Where Iron Meets Flesh
by perxephne
Summary: Lyra and Lyanna Stark have played at war since they were children, but after Lyanna runs away with Rhaegar Targaryen, Lyra has to set aside childish games and play the game of thrones instead, finding an unexpected ally in the enemy, Jaime Lannister. But can a wolf survive the lion's den? {AU}.
1. Who Can Say Where The Road Goes

**Who Can Say Where The Road Goes...**

_Before_

"Raise your shield!"

Panting, Lyra fell back, ignoring Eddard's advice, using her wooden sword instead to deflect Benjen's relentless blows. Despite his comparative youth, Benjen threatened to be a formidable fighter. Experience would soon remedy his lack of skill, but until then, his sheer dauntlessness compensated for his deficiencies.

Gritting her teeth, Lyra made herself move forwards, ruthlessly raining strike after strike upon him in return, her bones aching with the agonizing impact each time. Suddenly, Benjen stumbled, losing his balance. Immediately, Lyra swung her wooden sword upwards in a wide arc, bringing it down like an axe upon his shield, sending Benjen sprawling to the ground. Sweating heavily, Lyra then stood over him, wooden sword still raised, Benjen staring up at her with wide grey eyes.

"Enough!" Eddard admonished, hurriedly stepping inbetween his siblings. "No more, Lyra, he's had enough."

Lyra's jaw tightened, but after a long moment, she stepped back. Eddard then knelt down beside Benjen, repressing a reluctant smile at seeing him lying in the dirt, bested by a girl for all his loud assertions a man could wield a sword better than a woman, wooden or otherwise. He held out his hand to his little brother, Benjen hesitating before taking it, letting Eddard pull him to his feet.

"You best not let Father see you swinging that wooden sword about," Benjen said pettishly to Lyra, making her roll her eyes.

"You best not let Father see you getting routed by a mere female," she retorted, shouldering her wooden sword as she squared up to Benjen.

"I said, that's _enough_," Eddard interjected, separating them again. "Don't swing your sword like an axe," he then said sternly, turning to Lyra, "for you leave yourself open and exposed. You're not chopping wood. The movement should be close and clean." He glanced at Benjen, his face softening. "Keep your shield up," he finished, reaching out and ruffling Benjen's hair, "or I'll ring your head like a bell."

"_Again_," Lyra said, tossing her hair back. "He's already had a taste to whet his appetite."

Eddard shot her a warning glance. "You would do well to make more use of your shield too," he reiterated.

Lyra rolled her eyes again. "So says you," she countered, casting her shield aside just to spite him.

Eddard watched it clatter to the ground, amused against his will. "Where's Lyanna?" he then asked, glancing around the courtyard. Usually his sisters were inseparable, Lyra following wherever Lyanna led.

"I don't know," Lyra lied, shrugging her shoulders, knowing full well where her twin was, but knowing even better to keep her mouth closed.

Her eldest brother Brandon was breaking in a new mare, a beautiful but temperamental beast, their father warning the two girls to stay away from the stables until it had been trained to carry a lady safely. But Lyanna had refused to listen, waiting for the right moment to get past the grooms, and earlier that morning she had slipped into the stables, taking the mare out. As if on cue, there was the sound of hooves, making them all glance up, only to see Lyanna come riding into the courtyard, sitting astride like a man, head held high, the mare obeying her slightest movement. But Lyra had expected no less; Lyanna knew no will but her own, bending everyone else to it, be it man or beast. Tossing her long dark hair back, Lyanna then circled her siblings, making Benjen back away nervously, Eddard grabbing him by the arm, Lyra standing her ground even as the cobbles shook under their feet.

"Stop showing off," Lyra said coldly, refusing to be intimidated.

"I am not," Lyanna protested as one of the stable boys lurched over, his face lighting up at the sight of her. "Wylis!" she exclaimed dramatically as she drew the mare to a halt. "You pre-empt me!" But she smiled as she spoke, Wylis grinning back as he reached up to take the reins, Lyanna throwing them down to him, before sliding off the saddle at the same time, landing on the ground with cat-like grace.

"Really?" Lyra pretended to ponder. "You were certainly doing a good impression of it."

"Still your tongue," Lyanna laughed, "or my blade will."

"What blade?" Lyra said, shoving her sister. "Your imaginary one?"

"Enough!" Eddard said, stepping forwards as he spoke, eyes angry. "This is no laughing matter, Lya. What did Father say about the mare?"

"And what did Father say about wearing breeches?" Benjen interjected, watching Wylis lead the mare back to the stables. "You're as bad as Lyra, Lyanna."

"Or she is as bad as me," Lyanna smirked, ruffling up his hair like Eddard had, making Benjen jerk his head away at her touch. "I know full well what Father said," she then said, turning to Eddard, "but no harm came of it. The mare is as meek as milk."

"And the breeches?"

"What about them?" Lyra snapped, rushing to her twin's defence, rounding on Eddard as she spoke. "She can't ride with her skirts flying up, can she?"

Eddard glanced between his sisters, identical apart from the apparel he was contesting, Lyanna wearing an approximation of his own outfit, a long tunic and leather breeches teamed with boots, whilst Lyra wore a plain woollen gown with the long skirts hitched up at the side in a tight knot, revealing her own breeches. "I am only upholding Father's orders," he said carefully. "He said no mare, no breeches and no swords."

"Well, I have no sword," Lyanna said lightly. "So you can't condemn me on that charge."

"Yet," Lyra said, throwing her own weapon over, Lyanna catching it with ease. "Now you can still my tongue as you so threatened."

"Are you cultivating a taste for splinters, sister?"

Benjen rolled his eyes, before reaching down and retrieving his wooden sword, making Lyanna ready her own in anticipation, preparing to make mischief as always.

"Don't, Lya," Eddard warned, shaking his head at her.

Lyra scowled as Lyanna reluctantly lowered her weapon. "Well, don't say we're not allowed to wield a sword when you're the one teaching us how to," she said acerbically as Lyanna then pretended to poke Brandon with the sword-tip, making him squeal.

"Yes, Eddard," Lyanna agreed, then swinging the wooden sword round in a circle high above her head, her tone deceptively demure, "what _would_ Father say?"

Eddard frowned at his sisters, unable to offer an answer just as they had intended.

"Would you both just get out of here?" Brandon snapped, pointing his wooden sword at his sisters, gesturing between them. "Eddard and I are sparring!"

"You and Eddard were _trying_ to spar," Lyra corrected him. "You weren't doing very well until I turned up – in fact, it just went from bad to worse, didn't it?"

"Did you trounce little Ben?" Lyanna laughed. "I thought you said girls couldn't fight?" she then said, rounding on her little brother. "Yet you're sparring with Lyra!?"

"Well, who is he going to spar with anyways when Ned goes to the Eyrie?" Lyra frowned. "Brandon's always at the brothel."

"Lyra!" Eddard snapped.

"Well, it's true!" Lyra protested.

"It's no matter, Lyra," Lyanna said loftily. "When Ned leaves, Benjen can spar with me since I'm better with a sword than you."

"Am not!"

"Am too!"

"Well, I'll be sure to send Robert your love when I go to the Eyrie, Lyanna," Eddard interrupted, making Lyanna abruptly fall silent, just as he had intended. Robert Baratheon's handsome face had secretly turned Lyra's head, but it had been Lyanna who had caught Robert's eye, her brothers relentlessly ribbing her about it. But Lyanna resented Robert's admiration, openly showing her relief when he had been sent to the Vale as a ward of Lord Arryn, Eddard soon going to join his foster brother.

Lyra looked away, feeling the heat creep up the back of her neck at the mere mention of Robert's name. For all their tomboyish ways, the twins were fond of flowers and ballads, always sighing over the great knights and princes of yore the minstrels sang about. To Lyra, Robert was the very embodiment of all her romantic idylls. During his last visit to Winterfell, he had kissed her in the crypt during a game of monsters-and-maidens, Lyra clumsily kissing him back. It had been her first kiss, but not his, the memory of the moment ruined after she'd overheard Eddard upbraid Robert over being caught kissing yet another serving girl, Robert making the ribald remark that he'd done much more than mere kissing.

But what was disturbing her more than Robert being a spendthrift with his affections, was the secret fear he had kissed her in the belief she was Lyanna. In all the time she had known Robert, he had never looked at her like he had begun to look at Lyanna, yet it was Lyra he had kissed in the crypt. But Lyra kept her own counsel on the subject, not even confiding in Lyanna, uncertain her twin wouldn't let the secret slip. She knew her father would be furious if he found out she had been unchaste. The twins' wild ways were barely tolerated as it was, their antics amusing their father even as it exasperated him, but they were on the edge of womanhood now, and with no mother to guide them, he was becoming increasingly oppressive, especially in terms of how they conducted themselves with the opposite sex.

Lyra knew full well what fate awaited her and Lyanna once they had their first moonblood; that they would be separated and sent away, wed to lords of their father's choosing. But until then, Lord Stark expected his daughters to be virtuous and virginal as befitting those of noble birth, as well as learning the necessary ladylike graces and accomplishments meant to adorn such innocence. Yet neither girl knew how to be a lady, every septa engaged to instruct them never lasting long. But Lyra didn't need somebody to tell her what to do. She knew what she wanted, to live as she liked, and if she had to marry, she would choose for herself, her immature heart already set on Robert.

She had no desire to be a dutiful daughter like Catelyn Tully, who at only twelve, was already promised to Lyra's eldest brother Brandon. Lyra had accompanied Brandon to Riverrun during one of his visits there, making the acquaintance of Catelyn and her siblings Lysa and Edmure, as well as Lord Tully's ward Petyr Baelish, who had comically set himself up in opposition to Brandon for Catelyn's affections. Brandon had merely scoffed at the younger boy, continuing his restrained courtship of Catelyn regardless, Lyra observing its progress with little interest, feeling only pity for Petyr, reluctantly empathising with him, both wanting what they couldn't have.

Lost in her own thoughts, Lyra stood there, unaware of her siblings starting to drift off in different directions. The wind began to whip her dark hair back, the clouds rapidly darkening above her, signalling a storm was soon coming. All around her, the courtyard began to empty, finally rousing Lyra out of her reverie. She glanced up, only to see Eddard arguing with Benjen, whilst Lyanna stood some distance away, mouth mocking.

"Are you done dreaming about Robert's pretty face?" Lyanna called over, making Lyra stiffen. "Or are you admiring Wylis's muscles?" She flung another smile over her shoulder at Wylis, who was now hovering nearby, watching Lyanna with his habitual moonstruck expression.

Lyra didn't answer, knowing Lyanna was feinting just as she did when they engaged in swordplay, trying to get Lyra to lower her defences. She saw Eddard raise his head, his grey gaze flickering in their direction, but he gave no other indication he'd heard what Lyanna had said, Lyra hoping he hadn't.

Whilst Eddard relaxed their father's rules on occasion, he was every bit as strict as Lord Stark over honour and duty, and if he had the slightest suspicion Lyra had acted like a hoyden with Robert, she didn't care to think of the consequences. It was one thing to tease Lyanna over Robert's admiration when she so vehemently recoiled from it, the others mistaking it for maidenly modesty rather than for what it really was, a fear of having her freedom taken away, but it was another thing for Lyra to admire Robert, nobody knowing where her wildness might lead her, resulting in ruin and disgrace.

But somehow Lyanna knew, and how long she had known, Lyra didn't know. She shouldn't have been surprised though, Lyanna knowing her better than anyone. Fists clenching, she risked another look at Lyanna, who was still standing there, arms folded across her chest, eyebrows raised in expectation. Jaw tightening, Lyra glanced away, only to suddenly glance back again, doing a startled doubletake. Brow furrowing, she stared at where she thought she had seen another figure standing near Lyanna, just in front of Wylis, the air shimmering oddly where it had been –

-"Lyra, stop them!" Benjen cried, running over to Lyra, distracting her. "They're trying to make me fight Wylis!"

"_Lyanna's_ trying to make you fight Wylis," Eddard said impatiently as he came over, "I'm making sure you don't!"

"Wylis has giant's blood!" Benjen said, completely losing his head. "He'll squash me!"

"Nobody will squash you," Lyra said firmly, stepping in front of Benjen. "They'll have to squash me first."

"Enough!" Eddard said for the umpteenth time, lips twitching despite himself at Lyra's words. "There will be no, er, squashing or otherwise, not on my watch anyways."

"Where is your sense of adventure?" Lyanna objected as she strutted over to them, throwing her wooden sword up into the air, her siblings watching it twirl, Lyanna then catching it deftly as it dropped back down. "What's a little challenge between such seasoned warriors like us?"

"I'll season your backside if I hear any more of your nonsense, Lyanna Stark," Old Nan said from behind the children, startling them, abruptly appearing out of oblivion as she always did. "Leave such foolery to the lordlings. War has no place for women or boys like Wylis."

"But Old Nan!" Lyanna objected as Old Nan strode over to Wylis, the wind making her woollen shawl flap behind her like wings. "Look at the size of him! If you let me teach him how to fight, he'd be unstoppable! His name would pass into legend!"

"Wylis is a stable boy and a stable boy he'll stay!" Old Nan flung over her shoulder. "Now get!"

"Come, Lya," Eddard hurriedly interjected, seeing Lyanna bridle, "the time for jest is over, a storm is coming."

"As opposed to winter?" Lyanna said smartly, but she shouldered her wooden sword regardless, following Old Nan and Wylis in the direction of the kitchens, where shelter and warmth awaited, Benjen casting aside his own weapons and taking off after Lyanna, yelling at her to slow down.

Eddard watched them go before kneeling down on the cobbles. "Don't let Lyanna take the king's share of Old Nan's stew," he warned Lyra, picking up the fallen shields and wooden sword as he spoke, before bundling them under his arm, "or she'll just be sick again."

"Yes, on me."

"Well, you know she eats like a hog."

"Father should keep her in a sty."

"I thought he already did judging by the state of Lyanna and your's chambers."

"Are you calling _me_ a pig, Eddard Stark?"

"A Stark can never lie, can they?"

"A Stark must always defend their honour," Lyra parried, swinging a mock punch at him, her brother dodging the blow, nearly dropping his bundle.

"Enough," Eddard said, then setting off across the courtyard, "honour and duty can wait. I am concerned with more earthly matters."

"What, like filling your gullet?" Lyra said as she followed him. "Who is the hog now, brother?"

At this, Eddard just rolled his eyes, his reluctant chuckle disturbing the silence, echoing through the air, the Stark siblings then going inside the sheltering walls of Winterfell, unaware of the boy who observed them unseen, Bran Stark turning the first page of his family's story.

_Who can say where the road goes_  
_Where the day flows, only time_  
_And who can say if your love grows_  
_As your heart chose, only time..._


	2. She Goes Her Own Way

**She Goes Her Own Way**

Three years later…

_She snatched up a fallen tree branch lying near the pool's edge, Lyanna doing the same, laughing as she did, the sound ringing through the air, shattering the sacred silence of the godswood. The twins then advanced on Benjen, backing him against the biggest heart tree, their branches held aloft like swords._

_"That's not fair!" Benjen objected, grey eyes furious. "There's two of you and only one of me!"_

_"Of course there's two of us," Lyanna said, rolling her eyes. "We're twins."_

_"Wait, Lya," Lyra said, holding her hand up, confusing Lyanna, "he does have a point. Two against one is not honourable, especially when the lesser opponent has no weapon."_

_"I am no lesser opponent!" Benjen yelled, shaking his fist. "I am worth two of you!"_

_"Do not strain the point, Ben," Lyanna said, rolling her eyes for the second time._

_"If you must challenge your sisters," Lyra continued as if Lyanna hadn't spoken, "you should have had the foresight to be at least appropriately armed."_

_"__You __challenged __me__," Benjen snapped, "I was merely walking, minding my own business."_

_"And I was merely seeking to prove my knightly honour."_

_"What, by outnumbering an unarmed man and catching him unawares?" Benjen argued. "That is not honour, that is sheer chicanery!"_

_"Lya, give him your branch," Lyra ordered, startling Lyanna_

_"What!?"_

_"Now!"_

_Scowling, Lyanna hesitated before reluctantly throwing Benjen her branch, Benjen barely catching it. She then stood back, folding her arms across her chest, watching as Lyra stepped forwards, shouldering her branch as she moved, appraising Benjen with narrowed eyes._

_"You will pay for this slur on House Stark," Benjen promised, brandishing his branch. "Or I will die where I stand."_

_"Better on your feet than your knees, that's what I always say," Lyra said, before suddenly lunging at him, Benjen throwing himself backwards to escape the blow._

_Within moments, she had driven him to the pool's edge, back to where she had begun. In vain, Benjen tried to knock the branch out of her hand, but Lyra merely sidestepped him, swinging her branch downwards, hitting his thigh. The blow made him lose his balance, Benjen frantically windmilling his arms before toppling backwards, hitting the water with a startled cry._

_"Still going to die where you stand?" Lyra laughed, tossing her branch into the pool, the impact splashing water over her brother._

_"I'm drowning!" Benjen shrieked, thrashing in the water._

_"Still determined to die, then," Lyra said deadpan , rolling her eyes this time._

_Lyanna rushed over. "Hush, Ben!" she said in uncharacteristic alarm as Benjen kept shrieking. "You'll bring the wrath of Old Nan down upon us!"_

_"Old Nan will be thanking us on bended knee for getting him to bathe," Lyra said, tucking her skirts into her breeches, "even if albeit in an unorthodox fashion."_

_"Well, I don't fancy a skelped arse," Lyanna said firmly, "I swear she hits me harder than you, she always does."_

_"That's because I'm her favourite," Lyra smirked as she then waded into the water, ruthlessly hoisting Benjen up by the scruff of the neck, before half dragging, half carrying him to dry land. "Now stop your caterwauling," she said, setting him down, "do you want to wake the Others?" –_

-"Wake up, Lyra!"

Lyra pulled the furs over her head, the dream of an old memory fading in the face of harsh reality. "Seven hells, Lya," she groaned. "Keep your voice down!"

"What, are my dulcet tones too much for your delicate ears?" Lyanna teased as she threw herself down on Lyra's bed, nearly landing on her sister.

"Piss off," Lyra snapped, shoving Lyanna aside as she sat up.

"Language, sister."

"What time is it?" Lyra asked, rubbing her eyes.

"Time for you to get your fat arse out of bed."

"Why don't you get _your_ fat arse off _my _bed instead?"

"Just get up," Lyanna snapped. "Father is breaking fast with Brandon and Benjen."

"Gods, I'm dying for some burnt bacon and dark beer," Lyra complained, swinging her legs over the side of the bed.

"They'll probably have wolfed it all down by the time you get dressed," Lyanna said, getting to her feet.

"So you say," Lyra said, rolling her eyes.

Lyanna pulled a face before wandering off, humming to herself, her long dark hair swinging behind her. Hurriedly, Lyra donned a green woollen gown, not bothering to change her smallclothes for fresh ones, not that she knew if she had any. Lyra and Lyanna more or less fended for themselves, excepting the issue of laundry which was a sore point with the sisters, Lyra in particular never failing to lose whatever clean attire the servants left out for them. But aside from this, no septa overseen them, and no handmaiden intruded upon the twins' intimacy, and Lyra preferred possessing such independence, even at the cost of tangled hair and dirty dresses.

The twins' chambers were large and airy, with high vaulted ceilings and stone walls worn smooth with age, each room only divided by a series of swooping arches. But its imperious beauty was bruised by the debris the twins left behind in their wild wake. Books, manuscripts, clothing, shoes, flower petals, old toys and everything inbetween lay scattered to the winds. An old harp stood in the corner, the strings broken. Nearby, the twins' archery equipment spilled across the floor, the bows bent in half and arrows falling out of quivers, vying with dented wooden swords for supremacy.

After hurriedly pulling on her muddy breeches, Lyra darted over to where Lyanna was posing in front of the large ornate mirror they shared, trying on a wreath of winter roses she had woven, Lyanna shamelessly admiring the romantic effect of the blue against the ebony of her hair.

"Lya, can you do my hair?" Lyra demanded, gripping her side as she stumbled to a stop, a stitch suddenly building. "Please?" she hastily tacked on as Lyanna turned around, raising her eyebrows at her tone.

"Look at you," Lyanna smirked, "the great Lyra who barely breaks a sweat when engaging in the art of war but collapses at the prospect of making herself presentable."

"Can you _please_ do my hair?"

"Do I look like your handmaiden?"

"You _always_ do my hair."

Lyanna studied Lyra. "Fine," she then said, sighing heavily, "hurry up, then."

Lyra hurriedly drew up a stool in front of the mirror, before sitting down, smoothing her wrinkled skirts as she did, even as she knew it was a losing battle. Sighing heavily again, Lyanna made a display of picking up the silver-backed hairbrush from the shelf, eying it critically before beginning to brush Lyra's tangled hair with long laborious strokes.

"You have a grease spot on the front of your gown," Lyanna frowned into the mirror, Lyra frowning back at their shared reflection.

"You have a smut on your chin."

"Well, I bet your breeches are muddy."

"So are yours probably."

"Probably."

"Ned will be back any day now."

"Robert will be with him though."

Lyra's gaze met Lyanna's in the mirror again, silence spinning out between them. "So?" she then said, fighting the turmoil rising in her. Three years on, she still hadn't forgotten her first kiss from Robert, but Robert's infatuation with Lyanna had only increased with every visit he had made to Winterfell, Lyanna's marked indifference towards him becoming more pronounced each time, Robert seeming utterly oblivious to it.

Lyanna shrugged. "I was just remarking Robert will be here soon with Ned," she said, feigning false interest in a knot in Lyra's hair, tugging on it too hard, making Lyra flinch.

"Brandon says Robert will probably offer for you," Lyra said, trying to keep her voice steady as Lyanna pulled painfully at her hair again.

"It doesn't mean I have to accept."

"You won't have the choice."

"So says you."

"I won't have a choice either when my time comes."

"But if you could, you would choose Robert," Lyanna said, throwing the brush down on the shelf, "but he chooses me instead when I don't bloody want him!"

Lyra stood up, pushing the hair out of her face. "Robert's the Lord Paramount of the Stormlands," she pointed out practically, "he's high up in the graces of the king."

Lyanna pulled another face. "The Mad King?" she scoffed. "There's no honour in serving _him_."

"He won't always be king."

"So?" Lyanna said, shrugging her shoulders. "When Aerys dies, another Targaryen will warm the Iron Throne, and Robert will continue being the great whoring Lord Paramount of the Stormlands."

Lyra looked away, biting her lip.

"Robert's already fathered a child," Lyanna said, now pacing the floor, "some poor little bastard he's left behind to rot in the Vale, and no doubt there will be countless others."

"But… but he loves you."

"He thinks he does," Lyanna spat, stopping in front of the mirror, "but he only loves this." Before Lyra could stop her, Lyanna suddenly punched her reflection, cracking the burnished glass. "All he sees is a pretty face," she cried, whirling around, grey eyes wild, "he doesn't see _me_."

"Lya, your hand" –

-"Damn my hand!"

"Lya!" –

-"Promise me, Lyra," Lyanna begged, startling her sister, "promise me I won't have to marry Robert."

Lyra looked at Lyanna for a long moment, the broken mirror reflecting them both still. "If I can," she said slowly, hesitating before taking Lyanna's hands in hers, her shaking fingers closing over her sister's bloodied knuckles, "I will."

_Once you will know my dear _  
_You don't have to fear..._


End file.
